A mystery day
IT WAS mid-October, blissfully warm. There was a light south-westerly, glimpses of sun through hazy cloud and I thought last gasp tenching could prove fantastic.
Several of the boys were up, all cracking tench anglers, and we didn’t get a single, solitary bite. There wasn’t a bubble, a rolling fish, nothing.
There are times when you are completely and utterly dumbfounded by fish.
There was no obvious explanation for our complete failure, but then again perhaps that is how it should be.
Fishing is about jeopardy. You’ve got to have the bad days if you’re going to appreciate the good ones.